


In Plain Sight

by HanShootsFirst



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crime, F/M, Jewish, M/M, Murder, Religion, Runaway, Teen Romance, christian - Freeform, teen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9794654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanShootsFirst/pseuds/HanShootsFirst
Summary: After the unsolved murder of his mother, Leo is shipped off to Detroit to live with his Aunt Ruth. There he meets a wide variety of people, including Ave Fernandez. But one day when the police show up on Ave's door, ready to arrest her for a murder that she didn't commit, the two make a life-changing decision.//will update every week or so (if I remember XD)





	1. Chapter One

It couldn’t have been just luck that brought me to that thrift shop. 

Out of all the thrift shops in the world, somehow I ended up at that one at that time of that day. What are the chances of that happening? Especially to me. According to my Mum, I have the same amount of luck as a welcome mat. I don’t exactly know what that’s suppose to mean. 

Mum had a way of seeing things that nobody else sees. And not those chiché storybook “she can see monsters” and crap like that. It’s more quirky things that most people don’t even think about, like the amount of luck a welcome mat has. As if the welcome mat is a real living breathing thing and can actually have luck. But I suppose if welcome mats were living, they probably wouldn’t have the best luck.

And suddenly Mum doesn’t seem so weird anymore.

If anyone should have been thinking about luck, it’s Mum. But more like her own luck, rather than common household object’s lives. The only reason I say so is because a series of dreadful occurrences that one would call bad luck resulted in her death the month before, and me being shipped off to my aunt’s house. 

My aunt, Ruthanna Moore, or just Aunt Ruth is a strict Evangelical, with eight kids and lives almost like an Amish, calling normal stuff like cellphones and the internet work of the devil. She also calls other religions the biggest sin you could ever have, so it doesn’t help that when my mother married my now nonexistent father, she converted to his religion, Judaism, making me Jewish as well. When they divorced and dad ran off with a marijuana addict half his age, she, unlike most people, thought that Judaism was the right religion for her and me, and didn’t convert back. That’s one reason I love my Mum - besides that fact that she is my mother, of course. She sticks to what she believes in and doesn’t let what other people say bring her down. I know it sounds ridiculous and cliché, like a description for a Mary-Sue character in a Harry Potter fanfiction, but in mothers case, it was more than true.

Though Aunt Ruth and my mother are twin sisters, they are complete opposites. Where Mum tended to accept and embrace people's differences, and raised me to be the same, Aunt Ruth is so psycho-religious it can get crazy at times. For example: almost immediately after I set my bags down on my new bedroom floor (aka the attic) and took off my shoes, Aunt Ruth barged in and asked me if I wanted to convert. Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration. She calmly walked in, talked to me a bit about how sorry she was about what happened and how she would try to make me feel right at home here. Then she asked if I would be comfortable with converting to Evangelicalism or whatever you would call it. I told her no, that I was happy with my current religion and Christianity wasn’t an option. Now I have a feeling she hates me, even though she said she would be perfectly fine with me staying with Judaism. Or, well, she has a strong dislike for me now.  
Hating is sinning in her mind, which I honestly don’t disagree with. 

Then Aunt Ruth asked me if I wanted to go to the Thrift Shop (cue the Macklemore!) to get some new clothes. I had left everything at my old house, for obvious reasons. So I agreed, not in the mood to wear the same underwear for a week.

Again, as Aunt Ruth and her abundant family is basically Amish, and drives a car that looks and acts like it was in the Holocaust, it took ages just to get out of the freaking middle of nowhere. I missed my old home. We lived in the middle of Flint, Michigan. Sure, it was the city with the most crimes in the entire United States, about, and maybe if we had lived somewhere chill, Mum wouldn’t have been killed, but it was still home. Now we live in literally nowhere, about fifteen miles away from any sign of civilization. 

Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration. We have a few neighbors. Some twenty year old dude that Aunt Ruth said I should stay away from as best as possible - he smokes pot and does “unholy” stuff like that. Then there’s an old couple that we help around the house every Sunday after Aunt Ruth and Co. get back from church. I believe there’s some couple in their mid-forties as well, that we never see. But that’s really it. Like I said, we live about ten to fifteen miles from a real town, which happens to be Detroit. Who knew that somewhere so close to flipping Detroit could be so  
empty?

~

“Does this look too big?” I turned to my older cousin Luke, who had accompanied Aunt Ruth and I on our voyage out of Nowhere, USA. The other gazillion or so cousins stayed home, with their father to watch over them.

Their father’s name is John, who is another Evangelical (of course), but is way more chill about other religions. I guess that’s why him and Aunt Ruth don’t get along very well. For years now, they have hated each other’s guts, but being so strict in their religion, they can’t divorce. 

Most of the time they are chill around each other, but at times it can get way too tense to hardly be able to bear. 

“Nah.” He shrugged, not paying any attention, but rather looking at a video game I know his mother would never let him purchase. 

“Good.” I smiled, holding the shirt against my chest. It was a Three Days Grace T-shirt, which also happened to be my all time favorite band, ever since I was a kid and browsing Spotify with my mother. Their name can be deceiving, which I can use to my advantage for once. Honestly, it sounds like a religious name, but in reality their music is anything but Christian. Though I highly doubt Aunt Ruth has internet to look it up, so I was in the clear with that.

Biting my lip to conceal a small smirk from forming on my face, I continue to wander around the isles of the store, occasionally stopping to look at a shirt or some pants or something. 

For some reason, the shop is overly packed, making it both very hot and very hard to move around in. At one point I take of my large hoodie, and tie it around my waist, sweating my butt off. 

Aunt Ruth is looking at some cross necklaces in the jewelry section, and is paying no attention to me. Or to anyone, for that matter.

“Oi, Three Days Grace boy! Mind if I borrow that?” a female voice hissed into my ear from behind me, tugging on my sweatshirt.

“Huh?” I turned around.

“I said,” the girl hissed, her dark brown eyes darting around urgently. “Can I borrow that sweatshirt?” 

“Um…” 

“Crap!” 

Before I could finish my reply, she snagged the black sweatshirt off of my waist and put it on herself, pulling the hood over her head, concealing most of her face. To top it off, she reached over and grabbed a pair of sunglasses from a display, shoving them onto her face in such a hurry that they looked sideways.

“Excuse me?” I stared at her in utter confusion.

She, without looking up from the ground, placed one, long tan finger on my lips, shutting me up, and whispered through her clenched teeth, “If anyone asks, I’m your girlfriend. My name is Elizabeth Queen, and I’ve known you for years.” 

“What are you-” I began, but stopped as my eyes rested on two police officers, who were talking to the lady at the register. I turned to the girl, who had a worried expression etched on her face, then back at the police officers, one of which appeared to be a chief. She was looking right at them.

OH! My brain screamed. My first instinct was to grab her arm and drag her to them, but I’ve learned from past experiences never to trust my first instinct, so instead I just started talking to her about the weather for a few minutes, not removing my eyes from the cops until they left, which took at least ten minutes. 

When they finally left, I turned to the girl, who had now crouched down to the ground and was pretending to pick up some lipstick she had “dropped” out of her purse. I knew it wasn’t her lipstick or her purse because there were still tags on both of them, along with the sunglasses she was wearing.

“So what are you, a criminal?” 

She stood up, brushing her short denim skirt with her hands as if being near to the floor had caused it to become infested with bugs and germs. “No, of course not. I just…” she leaned in until her lips were only inches from me ear. “Have a history of...borrowing stuff without permission.” 

“Of course.” I rolled my eyes, as she pulled off the glasses, placing them back on the display case, as if they had never left. 

“Thanks, by the way.” The girl smiled at me, scratching the back of her head. “If there’s one thing I really don’t need, it’s another trip to the po-po on my record.”

“They can’t arrest you if you didn’t steal anything...did you?” I eye her with suspicion.

Her face went a bright red, as she reached into her skirt pocket. “Shhh.” she placed a finger to her lips as she dug around her pocket until she pulled out her hand, revealing a small golden chained necklace. “Don’t tell.” 

“Course not. Why would I?” I shook my head, pursing my lips to hide a smirk. Normally, I’m against stuff like that, but this girl seems too...sweet to turn into the police, however crazy that sounds. A girl hiding from the police and shoplifting potentially valuable jewelry is sweet. But she is. She’s also not that bad looking. In fact, she’s quite pretty. I tend to try and not be biased by people’s looks, because I’m not the best looking, but I can’t help it this time. She has long, straight black hair that she’s twirling a strand of with one of her tan fingers. 

“Sorry.” she apologized, her tone sarcastic as she rolls her dark brown eyes. “I guess I just assumed you’re part of the decent and law-abiding side of society.” 

“Nah.” Lie. “They’re lame.” Lie.

“You can say that again.” She rolled her eyes, before looking down at her (presumably formally stolen) watch. “Jesus! Well, I gotta run. Catch you later...what’s your name?” 

“Leo.” I stick out a hand for her to shake. My first instinct. Again, why I shouldn’t trust my first instinct. How lame is freaking shaking someone’s hand?! 

“Ave.” The girl replied, now distracted with a notepad, which she had taken out of her small purse and was scribbling down something in. “Not Ava, or that weird fancy name awe-vae like that Ave Maria song or whatever, just Ave.” 

I slowly placed my rejected hand to the side, hoping the humiliation will just go forgotten. “Nice meeting you Ave.” I was tempted to say Ava, just to annoy her, but I quickly decided against it. 

“Here.” The girl - Ave - reached over, holding a small piece of paper, and placing it in my hand. “Call me.” And inside the paper was her phone number, scratched down in small, messy printing. 

Looking up and opening my mouth to reply, I stopped when I realized she had already left.


	2. Chapter Two

According to some lady that called herself a therapist, when my mum died, a piece of me died with her. Apparently I was suppose to find a way to let go, and get that piece of me back. As if that was actually possible. The only way I could do that would be to build a time machine and travel back to that night.  
That night I was in my room, binge-watching the first season of Pretty Little Liars on my mum’s iPad, which she sometimes let me borrow when I kept my grades up and finished my homework. Mum always told me to be myself and she would always accept me for me and to avoid gender stereotypes, but I still couldn’t help but be uncomfortable with watching a girl show with anyone in the house, so I waited for ages until I was home alone to do so.  
Mum was working a late night shift that night, so I had the place to myself. That’s why I like not having a dad or siblings. I get the entire house all to myself for hours on end, with no one to tell me what to do. Well, of course I have a dad. It’s more of a concept of whether he’s ever actually around, taking me to baseballs games and helping me with my homework. He lived in River Falls, Wisconsin, so he always used the “it’s such a long drive” excuse to get out of seeing me. He also had a girlfriend named Honey. I doubt that was her real name, but that’s the only thing dad ever called her. Honey was a twenty four year old high school dropout who worked at a club nine hours a week and never really did anything else. Her hair was dyed a bright pink, her eyes an electric blue and probably weighed about 90 pounds, including the ton of makeup she plastered on her face every morning. My father doesn’ t work at all, so her job, minus her hair dye bills, is what they live on, which is why I lived with Aunt Ruth after that night. Child Protection Services even said so themselves; that I would be better off living in the custody of a member of ISIS than that family.  
On the show I was watching, one of the main characters (Aria) was at her boyfriend/teacher’s (Ezra) apartment, waiting for him to come home. Nothing interesting. It was getting late, around eleven, and I had some volunteer work the next day, so I finished the episode before turning the iPad off, rolling over on my bed and closing my eyes. I had almost fallen asleep when the doorbell rang.  
I took a deep breath, rubbing my eyes, before standing up and stumbling my way to the front door, answering it in some short pyjama shorts and large bunny slippers that I recieved for my eleventh birthday and miraculously still fit. “Hello?” I yawned as I pulled open the door. Then suddenly I wasn’t tired.  
“Hello sir. Are you Leo Harris?” The police officer asked, his face clear of any emotion.  
My heart began to beat at a rate I had no idea was even possible as my face goes a bright red. That’s always what happens when I’m nervous or scared. Instead of screaming or running or fighting, my face goes a bright red and I freeze. What did I do?! Was he going to murder me?! Oh my God, Leo! He’s a cop! He can’t kill you! My brain argued with itself. Just play it cool. “Yeah, is everything okay?”  
“No, I’m afraid not. Your mother has been involved in an accident.”

It wasn’t an accident. Murder isn’t an accident. Just because “there’s no proof of struggle”, according to the cops, doesn’t mean it’s an accident. It makes it an unsolved murder. There was a freaking bullet in her skull and was hidden in a stall in the women's bathroom! And no, she did not commit suicide. I know my mum, and she was the least depressed person you could ever meet. Sure, some people hide their depression and stuff from their kids, but mom wouldn’t do that. She just wasn’t like that.  
Mum worked at a hospital for both the sick and crazy (or as mum liked to call, mentally challenged) called Kingsley Specialist Neurology Centre, or just Kingsley's, so I suppose I should have seen this coming. It was large, including a psycho ward, health area and even a Planned Parenthood, so there are many conspiracy theories of what happened, but really no one knows for sure who killed her. It could have been a worker, a patient, or one of the psycho people there. So now there’s a huge case on it, even though the cops say it probably was a suicide and that it was very unlikely that they would ever actually find a murder. I think the fact that they have a case on her murder/suicide shows that the cops don’t even believe their own conspiracy theory. Maybe they made it up to use as an alibi or a coverup or something to ignore the fact that one of them really did it. Apparently there was nothing on the security cameras either (which is another factor in their theory that it was suicide) so maybe the cop who killed her removed the tape and replaced it with something else. Not that it matters.  
I know I should care about finding my mother’s murderer, but honestly I don’t see how it will help anyone. My mother will still be dead, I’ll still by at Aunt Ruth’s, and the murder being solved will probably give me even more publication than I already have, which would be saying something.  
Honestly, I just wanted the entire thing to just be over. All the news articles and police calls naming new suspects and “milestones” in the case were getting way too painful. Like a constant reminder of what happened. Like the world was trying to torture me.  
~  
The first day of school was always the worst. But when you’re a Junior in a new town in a new high school after your mother’s murder, it manages to be even more terrible than normal. It’s also not the real first day of school. It’s already almost November. It’s just the first day of school for me, making it probably the worst torture a student could ever go though.  
I was given a map of the school by the counselor, whose name they never bothered to tell me because they were in such a rush to leave and give some mentally challenged kid some of his daily therapy. Apparently the new kids are the least of their worries here, because the map was a step up from illegible, the school is massive and I had no guide to help me around this place.  
Squinting at the map as if I needed glasses, I managed to find out what room my first class (History) was, and squeezed my way through the crowded halls to it. I walked in, expecting to find some sort of torture device (I wouldn’t be surprised, noting this school’s tolerance) but it ended up being semi-normal. Normal looking students sitting at normal looking desks talking about normal stuff while waiting for the (hopefully) normal teacher to show up.  
It appeared to be a seat-yourself room, so I sat down in the way back, hoping and praying to not be the centre of attention. With luck, I thought, no one will recognise me from the news.  
It was highly unlikely of that happening. Thanks to the glory of the internet, I found out that Flint is one of the most crime-filled city in the entire country, so they probably won’t put one very predictable murder case from a different town in the newspaper or whatever kids are reading these days.  
Logic at it’s finest, my darlings.  
After waiting for a few minutes, the teacher barged in. His name was mr. Peterson, or according to his name tag it was. Crossing my fingers, I was silently praying that he wouldn’t try and introduce me to the class as “The New Kid”. Being labeled as The New Kid on the first day of school was not the best idea for my rep. Not that I care about what people think of me. Well, actually, I sort of do. Who doesn’t? It’s more like it doesn’t matter to me as much as it does to some people. Like, I’ve never been interested in, say, being crowned Prom King or dating the head cheerleader.  
I guessed I was in luck, because Mr. Peterson basically ignored me, but rather started talking about what sounded like some new rule, so I zoned out. Rules are stupid. No one ever follows them anyways, so why make them? When they are broken, it just makes people feel less secure. Like someone would come and kill them too, after an untimely murder.  
“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” A familiar female voice exclaimed rather obnoxiously from the classroom door. I, along with the rest of the class, turned and stared. Oh crap.  
Mr. Peterson sighed heavily. “I’ll let you off this one time, Miss Fernandez.”  
Ave batted her long, presumably false eyelashes innocently, though she clearly couldn’t wipe the mischievous smirk off of her face. “Thank you.”  
“Oh!” Mr. Peterson said, his eyes now widening. He bit his lip, looking around the room warily. “Um, why don’t you go sit by Mr. Harris.” Crap, that’s me!  
“It’s Moore.” I corrected before I could stop myself.  
After my mom’s death, and I moved in with Aunt Ruth and Uncle John, I decided to change my last name to Moore. Their last name. Harris was my father’s last name, and now that I was no long living with my mother and my father refused to take me in (not that the CPS would let me, anyways) I thought it unfit to keep it. Plus, I liked the letter O. Leo Orion Moore sounded really cool. Or, at least better than Leo Orion Harris. Talk about lame.  
“My apologies, Mr. Moore.”  
And he really did look sorry.  
Ave smiled, as she hopped over to me and sat down. “Fancy seeing you again, Mr. Moore.” she laughed as Mr. Peterson resumed back to talking about stuff no one really cared about.  
“And you, Miss. Fernandez.” I replied under my breath, using a fancy yet stereotypical British accent. Maybe I was flirting, maybe I wasn’t. That didn’t matter.  
She laughed again, and tossed her black hair to the side. Only then did I notice that she was wearing the same golden chain necklace that I had witnessed her shoplifting the other day. It was around her neck, the gold easily visible against her dark skin.  
“Nice necklace.”  
“Thanks.” She winked at me, causing my face to burn a deep red. “You’re blushing.” Ave snorted.  
“No I’m not.” I lied, going even deeper shade. “Ava.”  
She glared at me through her pound of eye-related makeup. “Yes you are, Mr. Harris.”  
I rolled my eyes, attempting to push that comment to the side. “Shut up.”  
“So what are you, new?” Ave asked, changing the subject as she pulled her long hair up into a high ponytail. I watched as she lifted her sleeveless arms up, took a binder off of her wrist and pull her hair up.  
“Yeah…” I replied, my voice trailing off as I stared at her. “I just moved here from Flint.”  
She scrunched her nose. “Aren’t there like, a million crimes a day there?”  
I nodded.  
“Sucks. I can see why you moved.”  
I nodded again.  
“You haven’t called me.” Ave noted randomly after a few minutes of silence. Mr. Peterson clearly overheard, and shushed us, but other than that didn’t call us out.  
“What?”  
“I said, you haven’t called me.” When seeing that repeating it didn’t clear up my confusion, she sighed heavily. “Back at Salvation Army, when we met. I gave you my number. You haven’t used it.”  
“I don’t have a phone.”  
“Sucks.” She said again. “You should borrow your mom or dads.”  
“My mom works a lot of shifts.” I said almost automatically, going quieter. What are you doing Leo? Lying to Ave?! My brain screamed at me, but unlike most of the times when my brain screams at me for being an idiot, I didn’t feel guilty. In fact, I didn’t care at all. 

After an hour of sitting and talking with Ave Fernandez instead of paying attention to Mr. Peterson, the bell finally rang. I couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing. Ave is certainly...interesting, but I can’t seem to figure out whether it’s the good or bad type. I mean, she steals and talks during class, but I talk during class too and I find her passion for theft pretty impressive. Or, so I tell myself.  
I went to my next few Ave-less classes, which were notably less interesting. I found myself zoning out time after time, hardly capable of doing anything. Who knew Junior year would be so boring. What use did algebra ever provide anyways?  
As the day dragged on, kicking its heels into the cold, hard dirt, lunch finally came. So far that day, I had made approximately zero friends, so unlike the majority of the other students there, I was dreading it. I’m going to look so lame. My brain told me as I walked down the hall. Sitting all alone, on my first day here, with no friends. That’s a great way to start the year!  
I was so busy listening to my brain rattle off pessimistic thoughts that I didn’t realize I was in the lunchroom until some kid with a football sweatshirt ran into me. “Watch it!” He said, laughing as he dashed past me, catching up with his other jock-y friends.  
“What a loser.” I could hear one of them say as they walked in front of everyone in the line, who all seemed to notice and looked very irritated but didn’t say anything.  
“Screw you!” I wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead I just sighed, and rolled my eyes. It didn’t matter anyways. It was just the way people were.  
Clutching my small, Elementary School-looking Spiderman lunchbox, I waddled over to an empty table, which also happens to be the farthest away from where the Jock/Cheerleader’s are placed, talking and laughing and flirting and triping members of the AV club over. I know they’re from the AV club because they’re all wearing the same “Camp Audio Visual” T-Shirt. Apparently that club is very popular among us outcasts, because I’d seen about about fifteen normal-looking people wearing them so far that day.  
Maybe I should join the AV club. My brain suggested, acting unusually positive. It’s not like it will ruin your rep anyways. It’s already hit rock bottom. Why not try it out?  
I shook my head, even though I was having the conversation in my mind and I probably looked like an idiot. Since when do you like AV?  
“Hey Leo. Mind if we sit with you?”  
I look up, to be staring right at Ave and her paparazzi lined up behind her. Before I can even open my mouth to reply, she sits down anyways, and her friends/servants sit down next to her. There have to be at least eight of them, and as they sat down people from other tables looked over at them, envy shining on their faces.  
I had never really thought of Ave as a popular person, but now that I think about it, her being popular makes a lot of sense. I mean, she wears clothes that someone who enjoyed discriminating woman based on their clothing choice would call slutty, and she’s what a perverted twenty year old high school dropout would call sexy. And for the first time in forever, the sexist and the dropout actually know what they’re talking about. With a white sleeveless top that only covers her chest and her shorter-than-short denim skirt, you can tell she gets on well with other males. And if I were what slutty cheerleaders would call “hot”, I would be one of those males she “gets on well” with in a heartbeat, if given the opportunity.  
“Who's this kid Ave?” The boy sitting to the right of her asks, flinging his arm around her. It was the jock who had ran into me earlier.  
Before she could respond, he grabbed the back of her head and pressed her face onto his. So this is Ave’s boyfriend. I realized as they continued to make out. Of course the popular football player would get Ave. Half of me wanted to burst out laughing, where the other half was resisting the heavy urge to stand up and punch Jock-Dude in the face.  
She smiled, placing one of her long, tan fingers on the tip of his chin and pushing him away. “Ollie, this is Leo, an old friend of mine.” An old friend??  
When the Jock kid - Ollie - looked away (at the cheerleader’s table), Ave winked at me, sending butterflies through my entire body. I wasn’t exactly sure why, because I clearly didn’t like her. Or, at least not romantically. Talk about out of my league. Plus, I’ve known her for literally a day. Well, besides our first encounter at that thrift shop, of course. But that doesn’t count.  
“I don’t recognise him.” Ollie The Jock said suspiciously, eyeing me.  
“Oh, he went to my school back in Mexico.” Mexico?  
“He doesn’t look Mexican.”  
“The correct term would be Hispanic, mind you, Oliver.” Ave crossed her arms, looking offended, before glancing over at me, clearly struggling for something else to say.  
“I was a Military Brat.” I jumped in quickly, before realizing that most Military Brats probably wouldn’t refer to themselves as a Military Brat. Well, it’s too late to back out now. My brain said. “My father was stationed in Mexico for a few years. He was just discarded so we moved here. His hometown.”  
Nice one. Ave mouthed to me as Ollie rolled his eyes, looking annoyed at my presence. “Military brat, eh? Lame.”  
I rolled my eyes. Even if it were true, I wouldn’t have cared. 

“We need to hang out later Leo. Like, actually.” Ave flipped her hair as we exited the cafeteria, Ollie The Jock gripping her hand, but besides that was completely ignored. He stared intensely at me, not moving his gaze for even a second when Ave spoke.  
“Oh, yeah! Yeah, definitely!” I replied quickly once I processed to my brain that she was actually talking to me. I’ve never been friends with a popular person before, and it felt weird. Because people were looking at her, they were looking at me and whispering behind their hands and giggling. Even before all the whispering girls, I could tell she was really popular, and it didn’t help that her boyfriend was Quarterback of the football team (according to one of her friends named Kat who was very intrigued by my random appearance at the apparently “cool people” table).  
“Six tonight. Library.” She said, more like a statement than a question. When I thought about it, she never really asked questions.  
“Ahem.” Ollie The Jock cleared his throat. “Ave, do you think I can speak with your, um, friend in private.”  
“You better ask Leo.”  
He sighed heavily, scrunching his nose, clearly disgusted by the mere idea of having to talk to me. “Dude, can I talk to to you? In private, preferably?”  
I shrugged, not bothering to correct him at the dude part. Maybe that was the “cool” thing here or something. “Go ahead.”  
He looked at Ave one more time, who was standing there, picking at her polished nail, before grabbing my upper arm and pulling me to a wall. His burning red face was only inches from mine, and he was breathing heavily. “Leave my girlfriend alone.” he hissed under his breath.  
“Excuse me?” I raised my eyebrows. For some reason I was expecting that he would make fun of my lunchbox or tell me I had a piece of broccoli stuck in between my teeth, even though I haven’t eaten any all day.  
“You heard me. She’s taken.”  
“I’m not into her like that-”  
“Don’t like to me kid, I have eyes! And rest assured that if you so much as touch her I will rip you limb from limb.” he growled. Yes, he literally growled. I didn’t think I had ever seen someone so mad before - besides my father when he walked out on us ten years ago. But he doesn’t count.  
“Okay, I get it!” I placed my hands up in mock surrender and giving in. If he wanted to think I liked Ave (even though I’d only known her for half a day so that would be really weird) “I’ll back off.”  
He lowers his arms, still glaring at me through his dark brown eyes. “You better.”  
~  
“Mexico, huh?” I leaned back into the chair, my unread book pressed up against my chest. “Where’d you get that from?”  
“I was born in Mexico.” Ave tossed her hair behind her as she flipped through a Teen Vogue magazine, not looking up at me as she spoke.  
“Really?!” I said a little too loudly, as the librarian poked her head out of the shelves and shushed me moments later.  
“Would I say it if it wasn’t true?”  
I didn’t reply.  
“You have one interesting boyfriend.” I said after a few minutes of an insanely awkward silence, before realizing how horribly jealous and rude that sounded and added, “I mean, he’s nice, is all.”  
Ave snorted loudly, earning another “shhh!” from the librarian. “You really think so?”  
“Do you not?”  
“No.” She laughed, as if the idea of viewing your boyfriend as nice was the most absurd thing she had ever heard of. “Of course not!”  
“Then why are you dating him…?”  
“It’s a long story.” she shook her head, looking down at the floor. “I mean, he can actually be really amazing when you get to know him. He’s been going to my church since I moved here, so I’ve had time to know him. Plus, he and I have some...history, you could say. Besides the church stuff, of course.”  
“History?”  
“Yeah. History. That isn’t your business.” Ave stiffened, staring straight at her magazine but her eyes not moving at all.  
“Okay. Chill!” I raised my hands in surrender. For I second I even thought it was real, if I didn’t surrender she could whip out a gun and shoot me. Maybe that’s what happened to mum.  
“Plus, he’s the Quarterback, and he’s cute and funny and smart…” her voice trailed off as she stated apparent qualities of Ollie-The-Jock. I should become Quarterback. My brain suggested. I could become popular and cool just like Ollie-The-Jock. Maybe I could be Leo-The-Jock. I shook my head, even though this conversation was entirely in my mind and anyone who could not read my thoughts would most likely thing I was having a spasm or something.


End file.
